


much ado about nothing.

by Gon (pepperedfox)



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperedfox/pseuds/Gon
Summary: A captain and a writer get drunk and raunchy. Basically, PWP.





	

"Its staying power is ten times beyond that of any normal human's. Nay, _a hundred_! The age of machines truly has blessed us with ripe fruits grown from decades of technological cultivation. Witness its sleek shape and how, with the flick of a finger, you can set it to do five minutes of work in the span of a few sec--"  
  
Drake snatched the pink contraption from his hands. "Is this what you want me to shove up your ass?"  
  
Shakespeare, miffed at being interrupted, ran a hand through his hair. "O, Captain, my Captain--"  
  
"--so you turn it on like this." The vibrator buzzed alive with the voracity of a hornet. Drake grinned at him as she twirled it, face flushed from alcohol. "All right, I got it!"  
  
" _Would you kindly let me finish_."  
  
Shakespeare tried his best to prepare a suitable mood. Sex was a performance; therefore, as an actor and playwright, he strove for nothing short of perfection. Granted, prepping while drunk was a challenge. Drake's cabin harbored a colony of empty rum bottles, papers, and clothes in various states of cleanliness scattered about. It wasn't much to work with but he was nothing if inventive. Tuck a flower in one of the bottles, spray a smattering of perfume, utilize his cape as a loose, makeshift toga once he stripped down -- it was the best he could do under the circumstances!  
  
While he'd been busy teetering and tottering in his preparations, Drake hovered over his shoulder like an inebriated spirit. "What're you fussin' over," "It's not that important," "Those are my boots," were some of the complaints she shared, all of which Shakespeare was quick to dismiss. Art could not be rushed.  
  
Which was why, when his grand reveal was upstaged, irritation seized hold of his heart. Though he posed naked on her bed, elegantly mimicking the Ancient Romans who'd lounge in their divans at luxurious bathhouses, Drake paid little attention to him. The vibrator, which she was now fiddling with, stole her focus away from the main star. This was absolutely inexcusable.  
  
Shakespeare cleared his throat.  
  
"As I was saying, I acquired this _vibreur_ from a "sex shop." Brothels may no longer exist as they had in our time, but these wonderful toys have demonstrated the boundless depths of human ingenuity! It is as they say: _No profit grows where no pleasure is taken_. Our modern counterparts have learned this lesson well!"  
  
"You know something?"  
  
"I know everything," Shakespeare answered with pride.  
  
The mattress bent beneath Drake's weight as she straddled him, forcing him onto his back. Years of adventures and battles were marked across her skin in scarred, uneven lines both above and beneath her bosom -- which barely brushed Shakespeare's chest. All of these were erotic in their own right yet, in comparison to the mischievous glint in her eyes or the way her mouth curled into a smirk, they paled in light to her utter and dominating confidence.  
  
In short: it was inevitable for the mast to be erected when the captain was aboard.  
  
"There's one thing you don't," she said. Her knee wedged between his thighs, forcing him to spread his legs.  
  
"Ah. What?"  
  
Drake tapped the now still vibrator against his lips, making sure to drag its tip along the curve of his chin. "What I want you to do with that cheeky mouth of yours."  
  
Shakespeare sighed, content.  
  
"Well, if the reward is good, I'm willing to set a date for your... unique case."  
  
"Hey." Drake's knee nudged against his barely clothed groin a little more. "I'm fucking you. I'd say that's a reward in itself."  
  
"You've _yet_ to ravish me. I see nothing."  
  
"Nothing at all?"  
  
"Absolutely," he confirmed cheerfully. "And once the lights are dimmed, I'll fully dedicate myself to seeing nothing while feeling everything."  
  
"And if I were to leave them on?"  
  
"Then _I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes._ "  
  
"Sounds right by me," Drake said, her words a soft, warm whisper skimming his skin. Her mouth pressed against his, the knee now a firm pressure.  
  
Foreplay was good fun but it was solely a catalyst for the climax. The naked weight of Drake's body on his chest and between his legs was what he'd been craving this entire night. The actor who played the starring role must deeply, intimately understand the part -- and by now, Shakespeare was well-versed with his sole audience's expectations. As her calloused hands traced the shape of his legs, his hips rolled with her touch and he breathed in sharply through his nose. He reached up to touch her in return. The attempt didn't get far. Drake pinned him down by the wrists, grip awfully tight, and broke off the kiss abruptly.  
  
"Don't get ahead of yourself," she said. She licked her lips, fingers digging into the bone. "I didn't say you could touch."  
  
It hurt, just a bit. If he'd been less inebriated, Shakespeare would put up more of a fuss. When your heads are spirited with alcohol and lust, though, you tended to circumvent whatever twisted pride you possessed for desire. The kiss left his breathing wavering but he wanted _more_ to be taken. He flexed his hands, well aware he could not and would not break free. "I see," he murmured. "Well, if you're going to ride me, hurry and hop on. I won't resist. Nay, I'll be your willing ship."  
  
That earned a sharp laugh from Drake. "With how you're asking? You must be dreaming."  
  
She released his right arm so her hand could slip between their bodies. He felt her stroke right beneath the base of his member, the touch hard but not painful. Every inch of his body buzzed in anticipation and his breath stuttered. Drake leaned down, whispered in his ear:  
  
"You're not ready yet. Be a good boy and stay put."  
  
The mattress springs creaked as Drake sat up. With the languid grace of a panther she reached over to the nightstand. A clear bottle was retrieved from the drawer, which she flicked open with a hollow _pop_ that made Shakespeare's heart beat faster.  
  
There were a million verses he could pen from this moment yet Drake finds surprising ways to steal his words from him. And without his words, what had he? There was no defense to the way she looked at him as she rubbed her wettened palms together, her face made all the more roguish by its uneven scar, how it sent a heady, hot flash from his stomach up to his head. God help him, she's practically taken everything from him by rendering him speechless -- he'd beg for her to help herself to more. Seized by a reckless whim, Shakespeare propped himself up by the elbows, his mouth running far faster than his brain.  
  
"A thought came to me."  
  
Drake dragged her wet finger along the underside of his shaft -- causing Shakespeare to squirm -- and raised an eyebrow. "Better say it quickly before I get started."  
  
"As the sky is irresistible to the bird, so is my heart drawn to you. I think you are the sole woman who has successfully tamed my restless being!"  
  
Laughter burst from Drake, like water from a babbling brook. It was one of the sweetest sounds Shakespeare had the pleasure of hearing. "Many men have admitted their love for me. What makes you so special?"  
  
While they'd been bantering, Shakespeare had been feeling about the bed. Triumphant, he flashed bright pink silicone before her face. The vibrator. "I'm nothing short of a creative genius," he said. "No, I am perhaps a muse of the arts personified! You've experienced a lot in the bedroom, I suspect. But no man or woman can push the boundaries of the human consciousness like I. So." He winked and offered the device to her. "Shall we try it?"  
  
"... you're awfully confident, aren't you?" Drake accepted it with an exasperated sigh. "I wonder what it'd take to keep your pretty mouth shut."  
  
"We can find out together."  
  
The vibrator buzzed to life. "Trust me. It's gonna be my personal challenge."  
  
The toy slid in easy, with Drake taking care not to push too fast. For all his talk about its merits, he'd yet to experience it for himself. It was a strange, humming sensation deep in him; awkward, though it filled him, the weight _present_ but not much else.  
  
"Looks like you're gonna need more." Drake grinned. She ground her hips against his, knowing full well how hard he was. "Go on. Beg for it, Will."  
  
A lesser man would feel abased. Shakespeare was above that. Pride was a hindrance when it came to these situations. He met her gaze, lips parting. "Madam," he said, "it'd make me deliriously happy to be used by you."  
  
She waited, drawing circles on his untrimmed chest, watching.  
  
"Please," Shakespeare said, plaintive. "My soul and body are at your disposal."  
  
"There we go. That was a good effort." Drake dragged her fingers down his chest, scratching along the inside of his thighs. "I want you to watch what I'm about to give you."  
  
He laughed. " _Knowledge is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven_. I can scarcely imagine learning anything better; my eyes shall not waver."  
  
His quip earned a light tap on his forehead. "Cheeky, cheeky," she said. "Keep talking like that and I'll have to take your golden tongue for my treasure trove."  
  
"You may as well steal away the rest of me, since I-- ahh--"  
  
Drake sat on her knees, softly sucking on his cock. Her tongue was warm and each time she pulled off to lick the skin, a shiver rocked through him that interrupted his train of thought. Her eyes flicked up to his face, calculating. She rubbed beneath his head, pressing kisses to the tip as her free hand kneaded the balls.   
  
The noises pouring from his mouth were low and staccato, little gasps of unrestrained pleasure worked free by the buzz in his ass and the consistent rhythm of Drake's fingers. She encouraged him with the cooing patience of a mother, telling him what a good job he was doing, for him to melt into her embrace and he does. Drake planted kisses beneath his Adam's apple as a reward and moved up to nip at the skin where his beard began. Every inch of him shook, his nerves throbbing with energy that threatened to short at any moment.  
  
"Down," she said, and he was quick to obey. The moment Shakespeare's back hit the mattress her legs enveloped his head. Blindly, he slid his hands over the curve of her ass, fingernails digging in. Warmth flooded his mouth which he only pressed deeper into, his eyes fluttering closed. It's difficult to breathe when he's already short of breath -- even more so in this position -- but as far as ways to die this was far from the worst.  
  
His body agreed. There was almost no fight left to be had. It was clear by the way he ground his hips against the bed, how his fingers dragged over her skin. He let out a muffled, desperate moan which earned a chuckle from Drake.  
  
"I'm not finished yet. Keep going."  
  
Whether he _could_ finish her was questionable. Both of them knew this. Shakespeare wet his lips, deeply inhaling before he returned to it, keeping his licks to her clit quick and short. To his satisfaction, Drake's legs squeezed a little tighter around him, a shaky gasp escaping her. Though his need was far from sated, he smiled against her, pleased by the small victory.  
  
The moment didn't last long. By the time she knotted her fingers in his hair, yanking hard enough to sting, everything's merged together into an overwhelming jolt: the wetness smeared on his lips, the weight of her body pressing down on him, how shamelessly the pit at the bottom of his stomach ached to be sated. It's as if an orgasmic lightning struck his spine, forcing it to bend, filling his head with nothing but pops of pure pleasure.  
  
And just like that, it was over. Warm sweat beaded his forehead. Drake laid beside him, long, naked legs stretched out like a sunning cat's. She was setting the vibrator on the nightstand. Seeing that he had recovered, she flicked his nose. "Consider this my treat." Satisfaction colored her words. "You're not a bad cabin boy, Will."  
  
"Well," Shakespeare said. Though he was still gathering his thoughts, he couldn't resist the chance at a quip. "Bards must know how to use their tongues, yes?"  
  
Drake ruffled his hair affectionately. "Which is the sole reason I keep you around."  
  
The sentiment didn't bother him. It was true. Shakespeare cupped her face, letting his thumb brush over her cheek. Drake watched him through half-lidded eyes, relaxed.  
  
"Speaking of..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I've been seeking inspiration for one of my sonnets for quite a while now. This encounter just might be it."  
  
Drake groaned and rolled over, out his grasp. "Shut your yap, I'm tired from fucking your brains out."  
  
"Rest assured, I'll give you a pseudonym."  
  
"Boy."  
  
"I was thinking that the first line would be something like--"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And that was how, at the crack of dawn, the crew found Shakespeare tied buck-naked to the mast.


End file.
